


Now I'm Found

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M, None - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has a moment of reflection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I'm Found

**Author's Note:**

> This was just Jim whispering in my ear instead of letting me work on the two stories I was trying to finish, now that I actually had a little spare time. All comments are appreciated, feel free to email me.

## Now I'm Found

by JC

* * *

I knew it from the day I met him - that I was lost. I mean, I was lost anyway, drowning in a whirlpool of sensory overload. Of course, I didn't know that's what it was at the time. I figured I was just losing my mind, slowly but surely, bit by nerve-wracking bit. In my mind's eye, I was spiraling steadily towards a place of total blackness, and I was starting to welcome it, looking forward to embracing it. It had to be better than what I had. 

And then, there he was. Breathless, cocky, solid, holding out a lifeline. Although now, I realize that he was actually filled with uncertainty and fear, harboring doubts about the accuracy of his theories and his ability to _really_ be able to help me. Feelings that I could easily pick up on now - now that I have learned control and fine-tuning, filtering and piggybacking. Today, that doubt would stand out as a scent, a catch in his heartbeat, an underlying quaver in his voice. But, back then, he sounded sure, and I needed that certainty desperately, and I was drawn to him. 

I fought it, hid it, and tried to deny it, but from the time I first touched him, I mean really _touched_ him - making my presence felt in his personal space, using anger to mask how desperate I was - I knew I was lost. Lost to him. Lost in him. Lost for him. Lost. 

There was no way in hell that I was ready for that, not when I had so little control in my life as it was. Hell, I don't think that I would have been ready even if I had been waiting for it, or looking for it. Not _really_ ready, not _prepared_. The most together person in the world would have been knocked for a loop by what that man made me feel. 

I couldn't give up that last little bit of control. That last bit that said I was who I was, still doing what I do, despite the fact that the rest of my world was spinning around me in angry swirls of sight, sound, taste, smell and touch. So, I fought it, I denied it, and I hid it. 

At least I tried. Through all of the training and the testing, I tried. I bitched, grumbled, fought, and pushed. I know now that I was destined to fail. When all it took was his voice to soothe me, what chance did I have? That nonstop chatter, that constant explaining and lecturing did drive me crazy sometimes, but it was the best kind of crazy I had ever known. 

All the time that I was trying to keep my distance, he was getting closer. 

Until he was _there_. 

There on my job, in my home, in my life as if he had always been there. Close...too close. So I did the only thing that I felt I could do when faced with that passionate, intelligent, caring invader. The one who was connected to me in ways no one else _ever_ had been, in ways I couldn't imagine anyone else ever _being_ connected to me. 

I fucked him. 

Not that it was that simple, or that crude. But that had been the plan. It was all I could think up. The only way to have everything, all of him, and keep it close, but not be consumed by it. Sex I could do. Sex I could do well. Sex I could try to make work. 

He had always been attracted to me. I knew that from the beginning, too. His excitement hadn't all been academic bravado. When I had him up against that wall, breathless, cocky and solid took on another meaning altogether. I may have needed training in order for my senses to detect doubt, but my ability to pick up on arousal was working just fine. Now, I've perfected even that to the point of a fine art. I don't think he ever figured that out, at least not in relation to himself, but it got so I could have picked a horny Blair out of any sweaty, rutting testosterone-driven group. 

Not that he didn't have me partially fooled at first with his endless parade of female companions, but he trained me too well. Even though he didn't stop going out with them, he stopped _smelling_ like them. And he couldn't hide the glances he sent my way, or the way he so subtly leaned into the numerous touches I gave him in any given day, and especially not the way he started to practically _sweat_ pheromones when we were together. Eventually, I could tell the minute his mind started to wander in that direction. It was like a game he unknowingly played with me. How long would we sit at our desks at the station before I could sense it, how long during an elevator ride, how long in the truck, how long could he sit with me on the couch in front of the TV before he became aroused. 

In a way, I always lost that game. Although I could tell the exact moment when desire hit him, it was always way after desire had hit me. The attraction was definitely not one-sided. It had been there from the beginning for me, also. I had felt it even through my veil of anger - looking into those wide, blue eyes, chestnut curls framing a face that held such strength and such beauty, the body pressed against me that seemed to fit, even then. At the time, it was much easier to get my head around that than the tribal mumbo-jumbo he was trying to get me to believe. I didn't act on it, but it was always there. 

He was attracted to me; I was attracted to him. The idea of sex seemed to be the simplest one, especially when things got to be too much. When he was there in my space like he was never going anywhere, even though I knew he could be gone at any moment, pulled away by all of the non-Ellison things that made up his life. Finally when it reached the point where he was all entwined with _everything_ that made up _my_ life, I took all of the feelings that I had for him, the feelings that had wrapped themselves around my heart and lodged themselves in my head, and I squeezed them into one tight, sexual ball. 

And I made my move. 

It didn't take much. A long time ago, Blair had drawn a line for himself. I knew it was there, even if he didn't know that I knew. Hell, I had been living on one side of that line for years, so I also knew how blurry it had gotten. That line that separated researcher from subject, cop from observer, and I guess what he saw as straight-laced heterosexual male from free-spirited bisexual male. Collectively, he knew more about me than anyone else on earth, but he didn't know everything. 

All it took was a slight tug and he obliterated that line. I literally just reached out and gave a tiny pull on one curly lock of his hair just to show him the direction I wanted him to go. Towards me. And then he was there, and soon I would learn that I didn't know everything about him either. 

In reality, I guess I was the one that erased the line, he just let me do it. He let me take the familiar scene of us sitting side by side on the couch, watching TV, commenting back and forth, sipping beer, and alter it until he was grasping the hand that I had wrapped in his hair, and the earth moved. It must have moved, because suddenly he was laying underneath me, our lips touching softly, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out how we had gotten that way. 

But I did know that I owed thanks everyday for the rest of my life for my heightened sense of taste. We kissed, and the flavor of Blair Sandburg exploded on the surface of my tongue and I shivered at the thought of the other versions of his taste that were waiting for me. And smells, and damn, the things I would touch. 

My groin was throbbing impatiently inside my pants, but I wanted to do things right. Completely, not quickly. I undressed him, taking my time, kissing him all over, paying attention to him and what made him gasp, and moan, and whimper, and scream. Getting to know him until his trembling had me trembling. What we both needed was heat - the heat of my body covering his, the heat of me buried deep inside him. 

We should have talked about it, we should have talked about everything, but as I took off my clothes, looking down at his beautifully aroused body through the foggy mist of anticipation that surrounded us, the only words that came to mind were: 'touch me', and 'suck me'. Not exactly conversation inducers. My brain actually latched onto the word 'sexy' to say out loud, and when Blair opened his mouth to speak, his whisper of 'please, love me' had enough force to buckle my knees. 

Which put me in just the right position to scoop him up and carry him upstairs. 

I wasted no time as I gathered everything I would need and settled between his legs. But, as I tried to ease my first slick finger inside him, I realized I had made a tactical error - no mission can be completely successful when based on assumptions. 

He was trembling, but now it wasn't from desire. His hands made fists at his sides, and his eyes were clenched shut as tightly as the opening that wouldn't allow my finger entrance to the one place I would have given my life to be at that moment, inside the tight heat of him. Instead, I employed 'Sandburg Relaxation Technique #3' until I felt more in control. I was still hard, so hard that I had the crazy thought that when I died they would have to bury me with my fly open, but at least I could tear my attention away from below his waist to concentrate on his face. 

That terrified, scrunched-up, beautiful face. 

It had never occurred to me that he might never have been with a man before, that I would be his first. Any thoughts that my plan would backfire had always centered around the fact that although I do sex well, I don't do _casual_ sex well at all. Or that my attempts to simplify things by stowing it all in a neat, little compartment labeled 'Partners, comma, Sexual' as if that would explain everything, would come back to haunt me as soon as Blair left my bed and went back to living the rest of his life. I would have handled that, somehow. I think. But the seriousness of his _virginity_ , the monumental responsibility of that, was enough to make me believe that I was in way over my head. 

The sensible thing to do, the _Ellison_ thing to do, would have been to kiss him gently and send him back downstairs, but then he started doing the Sandburg thing. Talking. 

I listened to him say that he had been attracted to men before, and had been attracted to me for a long time. Whispering haltingly, that he had never acted on those feelings except in his most private fantasies - fantasies that most recently, in his words, starred 'the one and only, strong, silent, unattainable super-cop, James Ellison'. 

Then, I did kiss him, not so I could send him away, but so I could get him to stay. I spoke quietly and reassuringly of taking it slow, waiting until he was ready. I touched him, and took his hand so that he could touch me, and he hissed out, 'please, love me', in a softer, more pleading tone than before, and I couldn't answer, but I tried to show him in the only way I could. I loved him until we were both breathless, and sated, and soft. 

Relationships are hard work. I've always believed that. Thinking back on my relationship with Blair, I see that it was really fairly simple. It moved along seemingly of its own accord, changing and intensifying, no matter what we did, because we couldn't do one not-so-simple thing. Walk away. The constant friction between us seems so utterly cliched now. The classic testing of the waters, feeling each other out at every new level. 

If I didn't know better, I'd say that he had done it all on purpose, that his brilliant, always-working mind had come up with some crazy master plan. That somehow as I had him pressed against the wall in his office, he _knew_ that none of it would be enough if he couldn't have it all \- if _we_ couldn't have it all. That being grad student and dissertation subject, Sentinel and Guide, cop and partner just wouldn't be enough. That being _lovers_ wouldn't be enough. That I was his _one_ , and he was _my_ one, and someday, someway we would _have_ to have it all. 

But he couldn't have known that, couldn't have _planned_ it, any of it, right? It must have been fate, destiny, or some ancient prophecy fulfilled. Maybe it was the patron saints of cynical cops and spirited anthropologists, or the guardian angels that brought us both out of the jungles, or even the wolf and panther that are still helping us make our way through the brave, new world of Sentinels and Shamans. I don't know for sure, but something, someone, somewhere must have been working a plan on us, because there we were lost in each other. 

Lost in each other, with so many things felt and not enough things said. 

As we were laying there, darkness cloaking us, I could have said that I finally realized exactly what I had been trying to distance myself from - that place we had come to where he held claim to all parts of me. That I couldn't shake the idea that he held all that I was in the palm of his hand, and it was at once the most frightening and most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me. 

I could have told him that he was so _in_ me that I could recreate him from smell alone. From the top of his head, down to his toes, I could actually form him just from how deeply his scent is imprinted in my mind. 

I could have said that and more, but I didn't. How could I make him understand, and once he understood, how could I keep him from breaking under the awesome pressure of it? 

In the light of day, I awoke to him smiling at me. He said 'good morning' and I was transported back in time, because although he sounded confident, by now I had learned how to really tell, and his cheerful voice and steady gaze were covering some serious doubt. Full circle - Blair standing strong, ready to face anything, reaching out to me. And I had learned my lesson. I reached back, determined not to fight it, not to hide it, not to deny what we were feeling, even while I was afraid to voice it out loud. 

Instead, I taught him how to make love. Sweet, erotic, loving, lustful lessons that bit by bit took us closer to what in my head became known as 'THE MOMENT'. And when 'THE MOMENT' came, that first time that I slid completely inside him, the joy of it brought tears to my eyes. Our guardian angels were singing a 'Hallelujah' chorus in my ears - true, it was probably just Sandburg moans and groans, but I could have sworn I heard harps. I should have known that the simple, glorious act that I had wanted so badly, that I thought would settle things, would really be my undoing. 

Being lovers tripped me up. Whoever was pulling the strings knew that would happen. They had to have known that letting me start down the path to sex with Blair Sandburg would invariably change things, and not in the way that I thought. They had to have known that the need would increase like a potent drug running through my system. It didn't take me long to realize that I could never separate the pieces of me again, that Blair had locked them all in place. 

Under ordinary conditions, there were certain facts that I knew about myself. When it came to sex, Jim Ellison never screwed around. Jim Ellison never rolled out of bed with someone to seek the company of another. Jim Ellison never fucked for kicks. And being with Blair could hardly be considered ordinary. Making love to him was extraordinary, and effectively sealed my fate, proclaiming loudly (to my ears, at least), that I was committed until the end of time. 

So there you have it, a situation that should have been perfect. To be in love with someone that I could see being with forever. Someone who cluttered up my nice, tidy world. Someone I would let drive my _truck_ , even if it was only once in a while, as long as he was _there_. But all of a sudden I was the terrified one, because although it wasn't a new revelation, I was finally allowing myself to fully accept the fact that nothing, _nothing_ , compared to Blair Sandburg in my life - Blair Sandburg _as_ my life. Making love to him had served to take away my last empty spot - by becoming my lover he had filled me completely. 

My fear was that it was too much, that he was giving too much to me and I wasn't giving enough to him. I was afraid that one day he would realize that and leave. And it was true. 

Well, almost true. I came home last week to find his bags packed, waiting by the door, while he sat waiting on the couch. 'Jim, we need to talk,' he said. I was so scared, I was sure that even he could smell the fear coming off of me in waves. He said that he wanted to give me some space, that he felt like he had taken over my life, that he was forcing too much on me. As I stood there, wondering how on earth he could think I needed a separation from him, it slammed home how stupid I had been. How I had forgotten an Ellison-Sandburg fundamental. Blair _talks_ , I _do_ , so over the years he'd learned to _do_ more, and I had learned to _talk_ more. At least I'd learned to talk a little more. 

Blair had _done_ the ultimate thing to show me his love, and I hadn't said _anything_. I mean, I had told him that I loved him, wanted him. I assumed he knew that I had needed him from the beginning, no matter how much I didn't want to, but I had never just explained it all. 

I had never told him how I actually got to the point where I needed to cross that line he had drawn and what I had learned from the experience. He hadn't heard me say that I believed we were committed for life, that I would be there for him, by his side for all time. I hadn't made him see that because of him, my life felt new, and strange, and beautiful. I hadn't said that I wanted to spend my life letting him see what I could see, hear what I could hear, smell, taste and touch things the way I could, because it was all his doing. 

I realized that I had to make him understand that he hadn't taken over my life, he had filled it, and I was scared that I couldn't give him a tenth of what he had given me, that I didn't have enough to fill one corner of his life. I had to say out loud that if not for him, the Jim Ellison he knew wouldn't even exist. I had to let him know that he meant something to me on a level so basic, so fittingly primitive, that even love wasn't strong enough to describe it. 

So, I held him, and I told him, everything. 

Afterwards, he took me by the hand and led me upstairs and showed me some things as reward for all of my talking, as incentive to never forget to sometimes just lay it all out for him. 

While he slept, I went down and unpacked his bags, and put his stuff away upstairs, where it belonged, where he belonged. When I got back in bed, he gravitated towards me, fitting himself to me, and I knew that that was what 'for all time' must feel like. Me with Blair. Blair with me. 

* * *

Jim rose from where he had been sitting on the ground, and dusted the seat of his pants to rid it of loose dirt. He laid a single rose next to the others he had left over the past four days, on the headstone bearing his mother's name. Five days of filling her in on the details of his life. The army, Peru, the department, his abilities, Blair. The last had been the longest story to tell, the hardest to get out, but definitely the one he was happiest about. He had stopped trying to figure out why he even felt compelled to come here and recount it at all. Of course, his lover had some theories about it, but he wasn't going to go there. 

"That's it, Mom. I wish you had gotten to meet him. We love each other, and we're happy. I hope you're happy for us." 

He took a deep breath and let the peace of unburdening wash over him, then turned to go back to his truck where Blair was waiting. He wasn't surprised at all when Blair met him halfway, taking his hand, so that they could walk the rest of the way together. 

_The End_


End file.
